As she neared the bank, the door flew open and a figure appeared. The man had a drawn bow in his hands and, had she not bent to take up the boat’s painter to make it fast, the arrow would have caught her full in the chest. As it was, it skimmed so low across her back that she could almost feel its passing. There was a cry as Gormán appeared suddenly at one side of the hut with Eadulf running up on the other side. The bowman, his grey robes flying, had taken in the situation in a moment and turned, running down the side of the hut. Eadulf tried to stop him but the bowman, using his bow as a weapon, struck out, causing the wood to crack into two pieces and Eadulf to stagger back and lose his footing from the impact of the blow. Then the bowman, with Gormán following, disappeared from sight.
Fidelma ran forward to help an embarrassed Eadulf to his feet. He was bruised by the blow but otherwise unhurt, and angry that he had been unable to stop the attacker. They heard the whinny of a horse and then the crashing of undergrowth. It was not long before Gormán returned, his expression furious.
‘He escaped?’ There was hardly any need for Fidelma to ask the question.
Gormán was clearly annoyed with himself. ‘He had a horse ready behind the hut and sprang on to it like a veteran warrior. He’ll be halfway back to Liath Mór by now. But I recognised him.’
‘You did? Who was it?’
‘The hood of his robe fell back and it was our friend Brother Sillán.’
Fidelma sighed deeply. ‘Well, at least that does not surprise me. But why try to assassinate me now? Cronán must know that I will have passed on the knowledge we gained and, if not I, then you would have shared that knowledge.’
‘Maybe Cronán wants revenge for the death of his nephew, Anfudán,’ offered Eadulf.
Fidelma turned to her companions. ‘Tonight I shall request permission to stay in the fortress. Now, Eadulf, I think we should have that word with Drón.’
She and Eadulf recrossed the river without incident. Gormán left them and went to take the other boat back and go to Gobán’s forge to collect his horse and their saddle-bags. The warrior who had given Fidelma the message from Sillán greeted her with an anxious look as they approached the gates of the fortress.
‘Did you see the messenger, lady?’ he asked nervously. ‘Is all well?’
‘I saw him,’ she confirmed with dry humour as she passed him. ‘However, he had to leave in a hurry but his message was clear enough.’
As they were crossing the Great Hall, Ailill was coming down the stairs from the guests’ quarters.
‘Are you looking for me, cousin?’ He greeted her with a smile.
‘I am still looking for your foster-father.’
‘I am sure that he is resting in his chamber.’
‘Do you know where that is?’
‘Up these stairs, turn to the right and his chamber is at the end of the passage. Shall I come with you?’
‘There is no need,’ she replied.
The young warrior raised a hand to his forehead in a vague salute and left them. They ascended the stairs and turned into the passage. Eadulf rapped sharply on the door at the far end. There was no answer, but some sound caught Eadulf’s ear.
‘There is someone in there,’ he said, raising his fist and hammering on the door. Moments passed without any answer so he grasped the ring-handle and twisted it. It opened easily and they stood on the threshold peering in. The room was well lit from a tall window.
Drón was lying on his back on the floor just under the open window. His chest was covered in blood, and blood was still bubbling from the side of his mouth. He was coughing a little. While there was no sign of a weapon, it was clear that he had been stabbed several times in the chest just below his breastbone. Fidelma stood back to allow Eadulf to kneel down at the man’s side. A cursory glance told Eadulf enough. He raised his face to Fidelma and shrugged eloquently.
‘He’s still alive, but …’
Fidelma bent down. ‘Drón, who did this to you?’
The pale eyes tried to focus but the effort was too much. Between coughing and choking on the blood, Drón strove to form words.
‘Too … too late,’ he managed to articulate. ‘Ét … Étain …’
Then blood spurted like a fountain from the corner of his mouth, and a strangled sound came from him as his body convulsed in its death throes. Then he lay still.
Eadulf’s expression was stern. ‘Do you think that Sillán has been here before us? He kills Drón and then attempts to kill you.’
Fidelma did not respond immediately. Instead she rose and walked to the chamber door and closed it. Then she walked back to the window and glanced out.
‘Sillán might have come to the gate to deliver his message for me, but he then went to ambush me on the far side of the river. This killing was but recently done. There was no way he could recross the river and accomplish this deed. This looks like the work of a separate hand.’
‘If so, it is surely a curious coincidence,’ replied Eadulf. ‘Anyway, we must inform Spealáin, the steward, at once.’
Fidelma put out her hand to stop him. ‘Did you hear his last words?’ she said.
‘I did. It was Étain. Wasn’t that the name of one of his wives?’
‘Ah, so it was,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘Maybe his last thoughts were of her?’
‘Maybe.’
‘At least we know that she did not kill him,’ added Eadulf as an attempt at dark humour.
Fidelma peered around the chamber. There was no sign that Drón had struggled with his assailant before receiving the fatal blow. Everything was neat and tidy; even the man’s bed had not been disturbed.
‘Go in search of the steward,’ she said finally. ‘I’ll see if I can find anything else here. The only thing we can be sure of is that the killer came in by the door. The window is too high above the ground outside. Oh, Eadulf, tell the steward to ask Gelgéis to break this news to Drón’s daughter.’ She frowned suddenly. ‘Her life might be in danger too. Spealáin should have a care for her welfare.’
‘That is, if Gelgéis and her household are not mixed up in this matter,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘How can we trust anyone?’
‘You are right to remind me of that fact.’ Fidelma was serious. ‘I am convinced that many answers to our questions will be found here.’
‘Here and not Liath Mór?’ Eadulf was surprised.
‘Here,’ Fidelma repeated firmly. ‘Find Spealáin while I see if I can find anything that will help us.’
Eadulf hurried off on his errand.
Fidelma returned to the body and examined it carefully. All she could tell was that Drón had been facing his killer at the time when he had been stabbed. His dagger was still sheathed and there were no other weapons to hand. She noticed his sword standing in a corner near the bed. She went to look at it. It was obviously where he had placed it when he came to the room. It was now clear to her that he had let the killer come inside and there was no suspicion of any impending attack until the person struck. That indicated that he knew his killer. Nothing else provided any other clue at all. She went back to where the body lay under the window, feeling baffled and frustrated. Another mystery or part of the same mystery — and nothing to provide a link!
As she stood there, a sound came up through the open window. It was a soft footstep on the flagstones below.
She leaned out and glanced down into the small passage that ran under the window. A figure was moving quickly by. It took her only a moment to recognise the young man. She gave a gasp.
He heard the sound and turned, looking up to see where it came from. His eyes widened in astonishment as they met her own.
‘Torna!’ she exclaimed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN